


Mireille de Remy and the Philosopher's Stone

by mireille08



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Eight - Katherine Neville
Genre: Beauxbatons, Crossover, French Revolution, Gen, Montglane Service, Pre-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-12 23:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mireille08/pseuds/mireille08
Summary: This is a crossover between The Eight and Harry Potter.  I first came up with the idea when I was re-reading The Eight and realized how much Mireille and Harry have in common.  Mireille and Valentine from The Eight attend Beauxbatons during the French Revolution.  It begins on Mireille's 11th birthday, when she receives her Beauxbatons letter.  Marat is an evil wizard, similar to Voldemort.  It's meant to lead up to the Triwizard Tournament of 1792.  So far I just have one chapter, but I'm hoping to add more.
Relationships: Mireille & Valentine de Remy
Kudos: 1





	Mireille de Remy and the Philosopher's Stone

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a crossover between two of my favorite books, The Eight by Katherine Neville and Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (or Sorcerer's Stone) by J.K. Rowling. I have freely borrowed from both in this story, which is intended to be a labor of love, and nothing else. I began it in 2018, which marked the 30th anniversary of The Eight and the 20th anniversary of the first publication of Harry Potter in the US. What sparked the idea was thinking about how much these books have in common. Both include a quest for the Philosopher's Stone, which gives eternal life.  

> 
> For any Harry Potter fans who might be reading this story and who are unfamiliar with The Eight (the reverse is not likely to be the case), let me explain a little about this book. It is an adventure/quest novel set in two different time periods: the French Revolution and the 1970s. Two heroines, each in her own time, are searching for the legendary Montglane Service, a chess set which belonged to Charlemagne. The pieces contain a formula with a powerful secret, and characters are divided into rival Black and White teams in a human chess game, as they search for the chess set. The heroine in the 1970s is Catherine Velis, a computer expert, who is sent to Algeria, where the pieces are located in her time. In the French Revolution section of the book, cousins Mireille and Valentine de Remy are young novices at Montglane Abbey in the Pyrenees, where the pieces have been buried for centuries, until the revolutionaries decide they want to get their hands on them. Both Catherine and Mireille try to keep the pieces away from those who would use them for evil.  

> 
> As I was re-reading The Eight in 2018, it occurred to me how much Mireille, especially, has in common with Harry Potter. I've made a list:  

> 
> 1\. Both are orphans, who know nothing of their parents at first. At least, as far as we know, Mireille knows nothing about her parents. Certainly the reader doesn't know anything about them, except that they died when Mireille was little.  

> 
> 2\. They both have a scar/birthmark which plays an important role in the story: Harry's lightning-bolt scar and the figure 8 on the palm of Mireille's right hand.  

> 
> 3\. They both have green eyes, and in both cases you can say that their eye color is significant to the story.  

> 
> 4\. Both have a best friend character who accompanies them in their quest: Ron and Valentine.  

> 
> 5\. Both have a mentor figure: Dumbledore and the Abbess of Montglane, Hélène de Roque, whom I have transformed into the headmistress of Beauxbatons in this story.  

> 
> 6\. They are both destined to confront the evil one: Voldemort in Harry Potter and Marat in The Eight.  

> 
> And I'm sure there are others that I'm not thinking of at the moment. Anyway, as soon as I read that Beauxbatons was in the Pyrenees, probably very close to Montglane Abbey, I came up with the idea of sending Mireille and Valentine there. It was too good to resist.  

> 
> I have changed some details of The Eight for the purposes of this story. It begins a few years earlier than The Eight, 1786 instead of 1790, because I wanted Mireille to be 11 at the beginning, as Harry Potter is. Also, I changed things so Mireille's grandparents, the Count and Countess de Remy, are still alive, because I wanted them to be the equivalent of the Dursleys.  

> 
> Originally, this was intended to be the first chapter of a much longer story, which would take Mireille and Valentine up to the Triwizard Tournament of 1792. (When I first read about that Triwizard Tournament, I couldn't resist.) But other projects have come along since then, and I have not decided whether I'm going to continue this story or not. Even if I don't, I have enjoyed writing the first chapter very much, and I wanted to make it available. I know I'm not the only person out there who loves both Harry Potter and The Eight.

Mireille de Remy and the Philosopher's Stone:  
A Loving Tribute to the Works of Katherine Neville and J.K. Rowling

Chapter 1  
The Girl Who Lived

Paris, France, April 4, 1786

The Count and Countess de Remy, of the Maison de Remy in the Faubourg Saint-Germain in Paris, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal French aristocrats, thank you very much. The Count spent much of his time attending on the King in Versailles, and when the King did not need his services, the Count stayed either at his mansion in the Faubourg Saint-Germain or his chateau on the Loire. His chief amusements were cards, billiards, hunting, and oppressing the peasants who lived on his extensive lands. As for the Countess, when she was not in Versailles attending on the Queen, she spent her time at balls and parties, and going to the theater and the opera, as well as acquiring as many gowns and jewels as she possibly could.  


Above all, the Count and Countess loved to indulge their granddaughter Valentine, the daughter of their beloved older son François and his wife Antoinette, who had died of the plague eleven years before, when Valentine was just a baby. As soon as they assumed the girl's care, she was the apple of their eyes. Nothing could be good enough for their beloved Valentine, and they gave her all the dresses, jewels, and sweets that a girl could possibly want. Valentine was tall and willowy, with pale skin and a cascade of white-blond hair that tumbled down her shoulders. Lately, the Count and Countess had been trying to get her into the Académie de Saint-Cyr, one of the most prestigious girls' boarding schools in France. Not that they were anxious to get her out of the house--in fact, quite the opposite. But they wanted her to learn the accomplishments required of an aristocratic girl, in order for her to make a splendid marriage one day.  


The Count and Countess had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They had another granddaughter, Mireille, the daughter of their despised black-sheep younger son, Ambroise, and his even more detested wife Clémence, who had died in the same plague that had killed Valentine's parents. At least, that was what they were told. They had had no communication with Ambroise ever since he had married Clémence who had, quite literally, bewitched him. When the orphaned baby arrived on their doorstep one day, they hated the thought of being saddled with her.  


Mireille slept in the tiniest room in the farthest corner of the attic where the servants slept, but her room was even smaller than the servants'. There was only a straw mattress for a bed, and no fire in the room, even in the coldest days of winter. Mireille wore only threadbare clothes, cast-offs from the servant girls. When the family had guests, which was much of the time, Mireille was forced to eat leftover scraps from the table in her attic room. Only when they did not have guests was Mireille allowed to eat in the dining room, but only at a tiny table in the corner, not at the enormous dining table with the rest of the family. Whenever guests arrived at the Maison de Remy, the Count and Countess forced Mireille to stay in her attic room, and they ordered the door to be locked until all the guests had left. In fact, most of their friends thought they had only one granddaughter. If anyone caught a glimpse of Mireille, they assumed she was a servant. And there was certainly nothing in her appearance that would lead them to question that opinion. Mireille was tall and red-haired with long legs and broad shoulders, and looked more like a farm girl than a noblewoman. Her eyes were green--strange, in their blue-eyed family. And there was something even more peculiar about her appearance: she had a birthmark in the shape of a figure 8 on the palm of her right hand. The Count and Countess took it as a sign of her freakishness.  


What the Count and Countess had never imagined when the girls were babies, though, was that their two orphaned granddaughters would become inseparable friends. The girls were devoted to each other, and Valentine was always hiding sweets under her skirts to give to Mireille when her grandparents were not looking. This was how she was able to maintain her slim figure, in spite of all the food and sweets her grandparents were always giving her. The two girls spent as much time together in Mireille's room as possible, talking and playing games of chess, even though neither was any good at the game.  


Today, the fourth of April, was Mireille's eleventh birthday. The Count and Countess never gave her any cake or presents, and they had done nothing to acknowledge the fact that it was her birthday. By contrast, on Valentine's birthday nearly two months before, on the fourteenth of February, they had given their beloved granddaughter an enormous cake and a heap of presents. When Valentine pointed out how cruelly they treated Mireille, they ignored her. This was the only matter in which they would not indulge her.  


Valentine had spent the morning being fitted for new dresses, leaving Mireille alone in her bedroom, reading The Legends of Charlemagne. Mireille had come to a part about a magnificent jeweled chess set with strange symbols carved into the pieces, which, it was said, held the secret of eternal life. The chess set was known as the Montglane Service and was said to be buried at the Abbey of Montglane in the Pyrenees. "The Pyrenees," she thought, "that's where I was born, and where my parents lived." Until they were inexplicably called back to Paris, where they died of the plague, that is. "I wish I could go there and learn the secret," she thought. Even though, if she learned the secret of eternal life, she certainly did not want to spend it in her grandparents' house. "If only I could escape from here and travel all over the world and have adventures," she thought.  


Just then, Valentine came into her room, carrying a cake and a book. "Happy Birthday, Mireille!" she said, giving Mireille a kiss on each cheek. "I haven't forgotten. I had to sneak away from Grand-Mère to go to the book stall and the patisserie." She handed Mireille the book, which was the second volume of The Legends of Charlemagne. Then she placed the cake on the tiny table for them to eat. It was an almond cake, covered with icing that said, "Bonne Anniversaire, Mireille" and the number 11.  


Mireille embraced Valentine and kissed her on both cheeks as well. "I knew you hadn't forgotten!" she said. And they sat down to eat the cake. She noticed her birthmark was tingling. It had been doing that all day, and she didn't know why. She had never felt anything there before. In fact, she often forgot she had the birthmark at all until her grandparents called it to her attention when they reminded her of her freakishness.  


"Mireille, what's the matter?" asked Valentine.  


"My birthmark. It's tingling."  


"How strange! It doesn't hurt, does it?"  


"No, it just tingles. It's probably nothing. Forget I said anything."  


When they finished their cake, they looked out the tiny window. It was a beautiful spring day, even though Mireille's room, without a fire, was as cold as if it had been winter. "The world is bursting with spring!" said Valentine. "Why won't Grand-Mère let us go to the theater with her tonight?"  


"Because we are too young to go out in society," said Mireille. "Not that she would ever let me go, anyway."  


"I long to be old enough to go out in society," said Valentine. "How wonderful it would be to fall in love with a soldier. He would take me to the opera and drink champagne from my shoe."  


"Soldiers are not always so very charming as you seem to think. After all, their business is killing people, not taking them to the opera."  


Valentine shook her head. "And now Grand-Père and Grand-Mère want to send me to that horrible school. I hate the thought of abandoning you."  


"I wish I could go with you. I'd like to go to school."  


"Well, you would. You always have your nose in a book," said Valentine, who never read.  


"You might want to try reading for once," said Mireille. "You might actually like it. I was just reading about a magical chess set that held the secret of eternal life. Supposedly, it's buried in an abbey in the Pyrenees, where my parents lived. Wouldn't it be great if we could go there?"  


"And be nuns?" Valentine wrinkled her nose. "Not me. I'd rather be the bride of a soldier than a bride of Christ."  


"I wouldn't mind being a nun. I could spend my days reading, when I didn't have to pray."  


"You'd have to go without me. Anything would be better than being a nun."  


They saw the coach carrying the post arrive, and soon afterwards heard their grandmother shout, "Valentine, you have a letter! Come quickly!"  


Mireille and Valentine went downstairs, where the Countess was holding a letter. "Valentine, my darling!" she exclaimed. "It must be from the Académie de Saint-Cyr! Oh, this is what I've been longing for." Then she frowned at the seal. "Hmm... that's not Saint-Cyr's crest. This is two crossed golden arrows shooting three gold stars each, on a blue background. I know I've seen that crest before, but I can't remember where. Oh, well, if it's a school that's almost as prestigious as Saint-Cyr, I'll certainly consider it. Open the letter, open it!"  


Valentine looked at the address:  


Valentine de Remy  
Maison de Remy  
Faubourg Saint-Germain  
Paris  


Then she broke the seal and read the letter:  


"Dear Mlle. de Remy,  
"We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  


"Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no sooner than 31 July.  


"Yours sincerely,  
"Hélène de Roque, Headmistress, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic."  


The Count and Countess stared over Valentine's shoulder with a growing look of horror on their faces. "That place!" shouted the Countess. 

"Valentine couldn't possibly have anything to do with that place!"  


"Certainly not," growled the Count. He threw the letter into the fire.  


"Why did you do that?" asked Valentine. "What is Beauxbatons Academy of Magic?"  


"Oh, that horrible place," replied the Countess. "Why we ever let Ambroise go there, I can't imagine. And of course that's where he met that witch he married. And now they want to take my beloved Valentine and make another lunatic of her! Never! I won't allow it."  


"My parents?" interrupted Mireille. "My parents went to this Beauxbatons Academy of Magic?"  


"Be quiet, girl! Who asked you?" said the Count. "Now let's forget all this ever happened. Valentine, it's time for your music lesson. And you," he glanced at Mireille. "To the attic with you!"  


The Countess continued to look through the mail and frowned as she noticed the address on another letter. "That's strange," she said. "A letter for Mireille? Who'd be writing to Mireille? Who even knows about Mireille?"  


Mireille was instantly curious. She'd never gotten a letter in her life. "A letter for me?" she asked.  


"It must be some mistake," said the Count.  


Mireille leaned over and saw the crest on the seal was the same as on Valentine's letter. The address read:  


Mireille de Remy  
The Room in the Corner of the Attic  
Maison de Remy  
Faubourg Saint-Germain  
Paris  


Could her parents' school be offering her a place as well? She reached for the letter, but the Countess threw it into the fire before she could get to it.  


"NO! GIVE ME MY LETTER!" she shouted.  


"Too late," sneered the Countess. Suddenly the seam of her dress tore, even though no one had touched it. When she noticed, she screamed at Mireille, "You little devil! You tore my dress! My lovely dress that I was going to wear to the theater tonight. You are completely unmanageable, just like your father. And that wife of his, even worse. I should have sent them both to the madhouse at Charenton. That's where you'll end up if you're not careful, girl!"  


There had been several incidents like this before. When Mireille was especially angry with the Count or Countess, strange things had happened, usually torn clothing or soiled buckles on the Count's shoes. Once a small vase had fallen off the mantelpiece and shattered. But Mireille couldn't explain it. She hadn't touched a thing.  


The Countess grabbed Mireille by her hair and shook her.  


"Leave her alone!" said Valentine. Her face, usually so pale, turned red as she went to pull her cousin out of her grandmother's hands--when a miniature portrait of Valentine's father fell to the ground.  


"That does it!" said the Count. "Go to your room at once, girl, and no supper for you!"  


"But that wasn't me," said Mireille. In fact, she could have sworn whatever had knocked down the portrait had come from Valentine.  


"Who else could it be?" said the Count. "Go to your room now. You're lucky we don't send you out to beg on the street!"  


So Mireille went up to her attic room and read The Legends of Charlemagne late into the night, until her candle went out. But she couldn't concentrate on it as well as she usually did. She kept wondering about this school where her parents had met each other.  


As soon as she lay down to sleep, she heard a loud tapping at her window. "What could that be?" she thought. Then, just as she was about to look outside, the window opened and an enormous barn owl, which looked too big to fit through the tiny window, swooped inside. In its beak it was carrying a letter that looked identical to the one Mireille had received earlier.  


But the noise had drawn the attention of the Count and Countess., who had just returned from the theater. "WHAT IS THAT NOISE?" yelled the Count. They climbed the stairs. "What's this?" he asked. "Another letter for you, girl? Where did this come from? He grabbed it out of her hands.  


"Give that back to me!" said Mireille. But he had gone downstairs to throw the letter into the fire, and the owl had flown away.  


Over the next few days, more and more letters arrived with the mail coach, for both Mireille and Valentine, but the Count and Countess threw them all into the fire without even telling the girls about them.  


And then it was Sunday. The family was about to leave for church, where Mireille always had to sit with the servants. "What's the best thing about Sunday?" the Count asked Valentine.  


"The mail coach doesn't come on Sunday?" she replied.  


"That's right! Not one single little letter!"  


At that moment, about thirty or forty owls swooped down all at once, each with a letter in its beak. The Count and Countess turned beet red. The two girls grabbed for the letters, desperately trying to get hold of one. But their grandparents swept up all the letters and threw them into the fire before either of the girls could get her hands on one.  


"That does it!" shouted the Count. "We're going to our chateau on the Loire!"  


"But it's not the season," said the Countess. "There will be no society there."  


"I don't care! We're going to get away from this madness! Everyone, pack your trunks at once!"  


The family drove in their carriage to the Chateau de Remy on the Loire, or, at least, the Count, the Countess, and Valentine rode in the carriage. Mireille had to sit on the bench with the coachman. Mireille usually enjoyed the family's visits to the chateau because the setting was so beautiful, and she didn't have to sleep in the attic, even though she was given the smallest bedroom, while Valentine had a bedroom that was almost as spacious as that of the Count and Countess. But at this time of year, the place was deserted, and a strange feeling of dread came over Mireille.  


The two girls passed the time by taking long walks in the chateau's beautiful, extensive gardens. Mireille was now reading part of the Legends of Charlemagne called Garin of Montglane, about a knight who was the best chess player in the kingdom. Charlemagne challenged him to a chess game, which was played on none other than the famous Montglane Service--the very chess set Mireille had been reading about on her birthday, which supposedly contained the secret of eternal life. Charlemagne placed a blood wager on the game: if Garin won, Charlemagne would give him half his kingdom and the hand of his eldest daughter in marriage, but if Garin lost, he would lose his head. During the game, the pieces seemed to move on their own, and the two players felt as if they were being controlled by an outside force. Finally, Charlemagne knocked over the board, when he realized the power behind the pieces had taken over both himself and Garin. Garin admitted to feeling it, too. And so they decided to play for the love of the game. Garin ended up winning, and Charlemagne gave him the fortress of Montglane, in the Pyrenees, as well as the chess set they played on. Garin had it buried within the fortress, so its power would never be unleashed again. Later, after Garin's family had died out, the fortress became a convent, which it still was. Mireille wondered if it was near the place where she was born.  


Before Mireille knew it, it was mid-July. Her birthmark had more or less stopped tingling after her birthday, but once in a while, without any warning, she would feel a slight twinge. No letters arrived for her or Valentine, that she knew of. But, as it turned out, the Count and Countess destroyed them, just as they had in Paris.  


At suppertime every evening, a gray tabby cat would appear in the dining room. Valentine would feed her scraps from the table, and the Countess would shout, "Valentine, stop feeding that beast! Horrible creature!" Then, to the cat, she would say, "Shoo! Out of the room!" Then the cat would go over to Mireille, who sat at a tiny table in the corner. Even though all she had to eat were scraps, she gave plenty to the cat.  


"Here you go, kitty," she'd say. After the cat finished licking her chops, she would lick Mireille's hand. Mireille stroked the cat's head until she curled up at Mireille's feet and started purring. At night, the cat would join Mireille at the foot of her bed and lie down across her feet. But, in the morning, she was always gone. In fact, she never showed up until suppertime.  


And then, one evening, just when the family was about to go to bed, they heard a loud tapping on the window. "Not again!" exclaimed the Count, just as two barn owls flew through the window, carrying letters in their beaks. Then, to the amazement of everyone, the cat transformed herself into an imposing-looking woman wearing a low-cut gown of black and gold, with a necklace of rubies and an enormous gold turban on her head. She was carrying a large stick, which she pointed directly at the Count.  


"Give the girls those letters!" she said in a commanding voice.  


The Count, shuddering, grabbed a musket from over the mantelpiece. "Get out of my house!" he yelled.  


"I wouldn't say that if I were you," said the woman.  


"Get out, or I'll fire!"  


"I'm not going anywhere."  


The Count pointed the musket at the woman--and suddenly a brilliant spark of fire burst out of her stick. The Count's musket flew out of his hands and fired harmlessly into the air.  


"You..." he muttered. "I've seen you before... Haven't I?"  


"Most likely," she said. "When I'm in Paris I'm a woman of society, and I frequent the salons, the theater, and the opera. But the rest of the time... Allow me to introduce myself. I am Madame Germaine, deputy headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic."  


"That place again!"  


"Yes, and your granddaughters are going there with me." She pointed the stick at the Count, who trembled in fear.  


"Well, perhaps I'll allow Mireille to go. It will get her out of our way, at least. But I'm never letting Valentine go with you!"  


"That's right! Valentine stays with us!" the Countess added.  


Germaine raised her stick. "Would you rather I burn down your chateau?"  


"No! No!" the Count and Countess shouted together.  


"Then she's going with me. Think about it. She'd be away from you if she were going to Saint-Cyr, after all. This would be no different. And she will come home every summer."  


"Will she be coming home, too?" the Count glared at Mireille.  


"We can make other arrangements for her."  


"Very well," agreed the Count.  


"Very reasonable." Germaine nodded. "Come with me, girls. We're going to my chateau. It's not far from here." Turning to the Count and Countess, she added, "By the way, the King and Queen require your services at Versailles."  


The girls had watched the whole scene in silent amazement, and they were extremely grateful for their freedom. They took leave of their grandparents and left with Germaine, who handed them their letters. "Now you can read them properly," she said.  


A magnificent blue carriage was waiting outside. The girls got into it with Germaine. As they drove away, they read their letters from Beauxbatons. When they arrived at Germaine's chateau, she served strawberry ices to them. "Now, I'm sure you have many questions," said Germaine.  


"Beauxbatons isn't an ordinary school, is it?" asked Mireille.  


"It certainly isn't! It's the greatest wizarding school in the world, at least in my opinion. Certainly one of the three greatest in Europe. The others are Hogwarts in Scotland and Durmstrang in East Prussia."  


"Wizarding school?" asked Valentine.  


"Yes, Valentine and Mireille, I'm very pleased to inform you that you're witches."  


"Witches?" their faces fell. "But witches are burned at the stake," said Valentine.  


"Not that kind of witch! Don't you know anything at all?"  


They shook their heads.  


"There's a whole other world out there, of witches and wizards. And you're part of it. Mireille, did you have any idea?"  


"No, why should I?"  


"Hasn't anything happened that you can't explain?"  


"Why, yes. Sometimes there are... accidents... when I'm angry. Like the time my grandmother's dress tore."  


"Exactly! You two were born with these powers. At Beauxbatons, you will learn how to use them. Tomorrow I will tell you all about Beauxbatons. For now, I'll just tell you it's in the Pyrenees."  


"The Pyrenees! That's where I was born, and where my parents lived," said Mireille.  


"Exactly. Mireille, your parents were powerful wizards."  


"And were mine?" asked Valentine.  


"No, your parents were Muggles like your grandparents."  


"What are Muggles?"  


"Non-magical people. Now, Mireille, there is something I must tell you before you go to bed. It's very difficult for me to tell you this, but you need to know how your parents died."  


"I thought they died of the plague, like Valentine's parents."  


"The plague?" Germaine scoffed. "The plague kill Ambroise and Clémence de Remy? Never! Mireille," she took her hand, "I'm so sorry to have to say this, but your parents were murdered."  


"Murdered?" Mireille's face turned as white as a sheet.  


"Were my parents murdered, too?" asked Valentine.  


"No, Valentine, your parents died of the plague, sure enough."  


"Who murdered my parents?" asked Mireille.  


Germaine sighed. "One thing you must know is that not all wizards are good. Some of them are bad. And there is one who is as bad as they come."  


"And he murdered my parents?"  


"Yes, I'm afraid so."  


"What's his name?"  


"I do not like to speak his name. It might draw his attention. But you will learn it sooner or later, so I might as well tell you now. His name," Germaine said in a whisper, "is Jean-Paul Marat."  


Mireille felt her birthmark tingle, more strongly than it had since her birthday. "Why did he murder my parents? And how?"  


"I'll answer the 'how' first. Shortly after you were born, your father received a letter offering him a very prestigious position in Paris. He thought he was rather young for such a high position, but saw no reason to question the contents of the letter. So he and your mother moved with you to Paris, where he soon found there was no such position."  


"Marat lured him there?"  


"Don't speak his name so loud! But, yes. Then, one night, he broke into your house and attacked you in your cradle. Your parents came to your defense and his spell rebounded, giving you that mark." She touched Mireille's birthmark. "So, your parents were killed in your place. They saved your life. And you are the only person--besides one other--to survive an attack by Marat. Mireille, don't you see? You're the Girl Who Lived. You're very famous in the wizarding world."  


"I'm famous?" asked Mireille, astonished by all Germaine had told her.  


Germaine nodded.  


"But, from what you say, Marat didn't mean to kill my parents at first? He meant to kill me?"  


Germaine's face fell. "Yes, my child, I'm afraid that's true. You were the one he meant to kill."  


"But why? I was just a baby."  


Tears welled up in Germaine's eyes. "Oh, my dear Mireille, you are much too young to understand."  


"No, I'm not!"  


"Believe me, you are. But you will learn all in due time."  


"Why can't you tell me now?"  


"My child, you are so young. And there is much you have to learn first. Including patience."  


Mireille rolled her eyes. "I doubt I'll ever learn patience. But you spoke of another who survived Marat's attack?"  


"Yes, a young woman from Normandy named Charlotte Corday, a recent graduate of Beauxbatons. She's about seven years older than you, and looked just like you when she was your age. Marat came after her first, then realized he'd made a mistake and you were the one he really meant to kill."  


"And where is she now?"  


"In Paris, agitating for equal rights for witches. She's become quite the firebrand. I wish her luck, but nothing will come of it, unless there's a revolution. Now, I for one would welcome a revolution, but it would come with great danger. Marat could use it to rise to power."  


"So he's not in power now?"  


"Certainly not! After his attack on you failed, he lay low for a while. He started hiding out in the sewers, and picked up a disgusting skin disease. Now he spends most of his time in his bathtub. But if there's a revolution, he could rise to power any time. Luckily, there are those like me, and my friend Charlotte--the one I just told you of--who support a revolution, but never with Marat and his followers at its head. And a revolution will come, mark my words. It might be a few years, but it will come. Both in the Muggle world and the wizarding world. It is our task to bring it about without allowing Marat and those like him to take charge."  


"And what will happen to us?" asked Mireille.  


"You will have an important role to play. But, as I said, all in good time. Now it is late and we must go to bed. And I promise I will tell you about Beauxbatons in the morning."


End file.
